


Westwood Road

by imaginingstars



Series: Ghost Of Ohio verse [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Ableist Language, Anniversary, Hypersensitivity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Living Together, M/M, Minor Ableism, POV Matt Murdock, Panic Attacks, Pre-Defenders (2017), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginingstars/pseuds/imaginingstars
Summary: Frank returns home after dealing with the last of the men he believes were involved in his family's deaths. He and Matt fall into the domestic life, with both its ups and its downs.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Ghost Of Ohio verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940530
Comments: 16
Kudos: 106





	Westwood Road

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the scenes from the first episode of The Punisher, where Frank takes out a cartel member and thinks he’s finally finished. That means this starts approximately 3 1/2 months before The Defenders, and ends up finishing a week or so before it.
> 
> Title from Westwood Road by Andy Black

Frank’s been away for a month when he returns to the apartment, smelling of sweat and lingering bloodstains that he’s tried his best to get off. His shoulders are relaxed in a way that Matt’s never experienced before, like a weight’s been lifted.

“I’m done,” Frank tells Matt gruffly, “I finished it.” 

In the hug that follows, Matt can feel about three days worth of stubble grazing his own cheek. Normally, he’d expect it to be hellish for his sensitive skin, but knowing it’s Frank brings a sense of comfort to it. The cold metal of the dog tags he wears at all times presses against his chest. He buries his head in Frank’s shoulder, happy for him that he’s finished his mission, and selfishly relieved to have him home. While Frank had been gone, he’d texted daily to let Matt know he was alive. Hearing an automated voice reading it hadn’t been as comforting as Frank’s voice, but it was definitely better than nothing. Matt had spent some of his worst moments wondering if today was the day that Frank wouldn’t contact him, if today was the day that something had gone wrong. He thinks this might be how Foggy had felt every time he’d gone out as Daredevil, and he feels slightly guilty for that, now that he knows how it feels. 

“I’m glad you’re back safe,” he mumbles into the crook of Frank’s neck. 

“Me too,” Frank says. 

“So now what?” Matt asks. 

“Was thinking of getting a job,” Frank answers thoughtfully, “‘S why I’m growing the beard. Look less like me, that way, and people won’t expect it.” 

“Alright,” Matt says. He’s impressed by the thought that Frank’s put into this. He’s also a little taken aback; Frank had been the one pushing for Matt to get back on the streets when this had started – still does at random intervals – and instead he’s joining him in retirement. “What can I do?” 

“Nothing, really. I was thinking construction. I work hard, and they don’t ask as many questions as a lot of other jobs.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Don’t want to talk about it right now, though. Tomorrow. Just need to sleep. I don’t sleep half so well when you ain’t there.” 

“Me neither,” Matt admits. 

“Alright then. Where’s those silk fucking sheets of yours?” 

* * *

Frank throws himself into making himself a new identity as Pete Castiglione. His beard is getting thicker by the day, and sometimes Matt just runs his fingers through it to check the length. His hair’s growing too, and the combination, whilst not unwelcome, feels somewhat odd when combined with the knowledge of Frank as a military man who always used to keep his hair cropped close. He’s got papers now, and Matt’s personally checked over Braille copies to make sure they at least seem legal. He seems pretty damn close to content. 

It is, as predicted, quite easy for Frank to find construction work. Aside from anything else, there are still sites dotted around where the Incident had destroyed something which is only now being replaced. Now, rather than Frank always being around when he gets home, Matt sometimes arrives after work to an empty apartment. Those times, they’ve silently agreed, it’s Matt’s turn to cook. He’s nowhere near as good at it as Frank, but he makes a mean scrambled egg, and sometimes he cheats and orders takeout instead. He’s also expanded his cooking horizons, and he can even make a passable chilli con carne now. Even Frank’s ability to be stoic hadn’t quite concealed his surprise when he’d announced to Matt that it was good. 

Being domestic with Frank is... Well, it’s refreshing. None of his relationships have ever been like this; his most serious romance before this had been Elektra, and whatever else that had been, it certainly hadn’t been domestic. But with Frank, it’s not just an apartment the two of them occupy. It’s a home. In the time since Christmas, when Matt gave Frank that key, the remainder of Frank’s personal belongings have migrated into the building. Frank still has a safe house, of course; he’s still military, still prepared. But all the things that matter to him, they’re the objects he keeps in the space he shares with Matt. 

It’s Frank’s third week on the job when Matt heads his way during a lunch break. He’d abandoned his work on his current case in disgust, utterly exasperated with his own inability to concentrate. Instead, he grabs the bag containing the sandwich Frank had made him that morning and extends his cane. It takes a little while, but he arrives at the construction site Frank’s working at. Frank clearly notices him coming, because he starts making his way down from his position eating lunch on the roof immediately. He barely makes it to the ground floor before Matt hears something which makes his blood boil. 

“Hey, where the fuck’re you going? You know that blind guy? Bet you’re some fucking pair, he’s blind and you’re dumb.” 

Frank keeps walking, and the words keep coming. 

“Hey, freak, you listening? Christ, you’re stupid.” 

Matt hears the rub of Frank’s fingers on the metal of his lunchbox as his grip tightens in anger, but Frank’s still going. He emerges from the front of what’s left of the building and heads straight over to Matt, who’s loitering by the entrance. It’s only then that Matt realises that he, too, is holding what’s in his hands far too tightly with his fury. He actually has to remind himself not to break his own cane. Once Frank reaches him, he lays his hand over Matt’s and pries his fingers looser one by one. 

“Hey, Matty,” he says. It doesn’t work as a distraction. 

“They talk to you like that? Do they do that a lot?” 

“It’s nothing. I can live with it.” 

“They shouldn’t–” 

“But they do,” Frank cuts him off, “And you won’t change that.” 

“It’s workplace harassment, I can–” 

“No,” Frank interjects again, firmly, “You can’t. You won’t. I don’t need it, and you can’t prosecute for a dead man anyway.” 

“I know, I know, I just...” 

“You can’t always unleash your righteous fury, Red,” Frank tells him gently. 

“You see the irony there, right?” Matt answers, smiling weakly. 

Frank rubs his thumb over Matt’s knuckles. Matt thinks of a time when they were constantly scraped up, and sort of regrets that he can’t punch any of the people he heard talking to Frank like that. He swallows hard and Frank presses their foreheads together in an uncharacteristic display of public affection. He brings his hand up to Matt’s cheek. It’s rough, work-hardened, and not at all like Matt’s. Any of the hardness Matt had built up from his night-time activities is all but gone, lingering only due to his regular boxing sessions with Frank; instead his hands are soft, and his fingers are the digits of a lawyer who works at a desk. The two bask in the moment for a few seconds, and then Frank pulls away. Matt turns his head and presses a kiss to Frank’s palm just before the hand moves too. 

“You came to join me for lunch, Matty?” 

“Yeah,” Matt says, mouth dry and heart beating a little fast in the aftermath of Frank’s moment of romance. 

“Then let’s go eat.” 

They do, and they don’t speak about it any further. 

* * *

Even now that those responsible for the deaths of his family have been dealt with, nights are still the worst for Frank. He wakes shouting some mornings, even crying on others. The most difficult times are when he wakes convinced that the body beside him is Maria’s. Those are the mornings Matt still doesn’t know how to handle. They’re also, selfishly, the ones Matt struggles with the most on a personal level. How can he comfort his partner when he’s not the person he had hoped for? He’s a reminder that Frank won’t get what he had before back. 

Matt might not be able to see, but he’s not blind about how Frank feels about him. He knows that Frank loves him. That doesn’t change the fact that he still loves Maria too, though. Matt could never be angry about that: contrary to the beliefs of some, he’s not actually a complete asshole. Instead, he sits and holds the other man as he composes himself, unless Frank waves him off. After all, there are mornings when Frank can’t stand being touched, and Matt’s not going to ignore that just so he can feel like he’s doing something. 

This particular morning, though, Frank wakes up angry. It’s a day off for both of them, but it’s soured immediately as Frank wakes up tense and shaking. Matt can tell at once that this is a morning to give Frank his space, and it can go either way once the day properly starts. It seems like things are going to get better until Frank fumbles and drops his phone twice in a row before accidentally standing on it as he tries to pick it up. It’s not broken, but it’s the last straw. With a roar, Frank grabs his glass of water from the night before off the bedside table and hurls it across the room. 

From where he’s retreated into the kitchen, Matt flinches at the resounding crash as the glass shatters. _Oh, fuck_. The only thing that could possibly make this worse is happening. The sound is as loud as it would be if somebody had smashed the glass against Matt’s own head. Frank’s laboured breathing is deafening. Matt clutches at the work surface in front of him for stability, but it feels like sandpaper beneath his fingers. His clothes are too tight, too rough. It feels like outside is coming inside as the cab outside honks its horn and it sounds like it’s right beside him. 

This has only happened once since Frank started spending time with Matt, and it hasn’t happened at all since they became an item. It’s just that sometimes everything is too much – there’s too much input from Matt’s ridiculously powerful senses, and it sends everything a little haywire. Matt doesn’t notice his own alarmed gasp until Frank’s footsteps head in his direction, echoing painfully in his head. He doesn’t realise he’s staggered backwards away from the sound until his back collides with a cupboard, and he lets out an alarmed cry and springs back forwards. 

“Shit,” Frank says, voice so quiet it’s nearly a whisper, all of the anger from moments ago dissipating at once, “I’m sorry, Matt.” 

“Not your fault,” Matt grits out at the same volume, “It’s so loud, it’s too much...” 

His legs give way and he finds himself in Frank’s arms. He never thought anyone would carry him bridal style, but Frank’s proving him wrong. Frank makes his way to the bed with footsteps as close to silent as they can possibly be. They’re still too loud for Matt, but they’re better than before, and the steady rocking of the movement is soothing. So is the proximity of Frank’s heart – it’s a centre, a focal point. His shirt is still too much, every fibre scraping him, and he must voice this somehow, because the second that Frank deposits him on the blissfully soft silk of the sheets, gentle hands are pulling off the offending garment. It’s closely followed by his sweatpants, though his boxers are left where they are. Matt lets out a sigh of relief, but tenses up again when he feels Frank pull away. 

“Stay,” he half-begs, slightly alarmed at the loss, “Please stay.” 

“You sure?” Frank asks, voice uncertain but still as quiet as it had been in the kitchen. 

“Yes, please, Frank, please...” 

Matt feels the shift of the bed as Frank lies down beside him. He pulls the other man’s arm over him, the weight reassuring and the sound of his heart a steady rhythm pounding through the both of them. He loses track of the passage of time as he focuses on breathing in time with Frank, tuning into his partner’s heartbeat. As the noises recede to the background again and his skin stops itching to be peeled off, he takes a few deep breaths. Eventually, the tension leaves his body all at once. It’s like exhaling in a rush. He feels Frank press a single, soft kiss to the back of his head where he’s spooning him from behind. It should be a slightly ridiculous gesture given its odd positioning, but instead it’s tender. 

“You doing any better, Matty?” It’s still said quietly, but this time it feels quiet too, Matt’s head no longer screaming at him. 

“Yeah,” Matt replies, voice a little hoarse for no discernible reason, “Better now.” 

“‘M sorry,” Frank apologises. 

“What? Why?” 

“I threw that glass, I–” 

“It wasn’t your fault, Frank. It just happened, it was poor timing.” 

“You know I, uh... Shit. Fuck, I’m still bad this crap. You know it wasn’t because of you, right? I wasn’t angry with you.” 

“I know,” Matt says, and he means it. Misery’s still radiating off Frank in waves, though. “Really, I know. I get it.” 

“You’re too fucking good for me, Red,” Frank says, almost to himself. 

“You need to stop saying that,” Matt tells him, “It’s not healthy.” 

“Told you that first night I broke in, I ain’t exactly a poster boy for emotional well-being,” Frank answers wryly. 

“So we’ll work on that,” Matt says simply. 

“How the hell did this end up with you comforting me when you’re the one who just had that shit happen?” 

“Like anything the two of us do will ever be a normal approach to anything,” Matt points out. 

“You got me there, Matty,” Frank chuckles lowly, “You got me there.” 

* * *

So, yeah, sometimes they have bad days. But sometimes they have good days, too. Like the perfectly-timed day that Matt’s client’s suit is settled outside court and she gets awarded so much money she insists she can’t take Matt’s work _pro bono_ anymore. He succeeds only in wrestling her down to a slightly more reasonable fee, though his arguments for her not paying him at all as they had previously agreed fall on deaf ears, and he convinces Frank to let him take him out for dinner with some of the payment. 

They end up at a little Italian place a few blocks over. Matt has to remind himself to call Frank Pete, but it’s worth it. Their waitress, who also happens to be the owner, shoots the two of them knowing looks the whole time, and it should probably be a little off-putting from the way that Frank describes it, but somehow it just leaves Matt feeling a little smug. _Of course_ this woman thinks they’re good together, _of course_ she noticed how much they love each other. At this point, Matt would probably scream it from a rooftop. 

The food is incredible, and the company is, if anything, even better, and Matt says so. 

“Yeah, it’s almost like you’ve spent a year dating that company, huh?” Frank says, a surprising amount of mischief present in his tone. 

“You remembered,” Matt notes delightedly. 

“Course I did.” Frank sounds jokingly offended at the thought that he wouldn’t. “Happy anniversary, Red.” 

Matt grins. “Happy anniversary, Frank.” 

They pay the bill and tumble out of the restaurant in an uncharacteristically uncoordinated jumble of limbs, ever so slightly buzzed from the wine they had with dinner, Matt reaching for Frank’s hand. He’s grinning like a lunatic and he’s pretty sure Frank is too. They laugh the whole way home, and Matt feels a petty surge of triumph against the world that he and Frank have found this in spite the shit they’ve had their lives. They’re by the doors to Matt’s building when a familiar heartbeat approaches. Unfortunately, it’s not even really one that Matt can easily throw off. It’s not Karen, who seems to like Frank despite not knowing anything about the relationship he has with Matt, or even Foggy, who’d kick his ass but only in private. It’s Brett Mahoney. Even that isn’t enough to sour Matt’s mood, though. 

“Murdock,” Brett says, slightly surprised. He clearly takes a second to register Matt’s hand holding Frank’s, then takes a closer look at Frank himself. “Wait, is that...?” 

“Brett,” Matt greets him cheerfully, “This is my boyfriend, Pete Castiglione.” 

“Hi,” Frank says. 

“Matt, that’s not...” Mahoney sounds incredibly thrown off. Matt can’t quite tell if it’s because he’s with a man, or because that man is Frank Castle, or even if it’s because Frank is the one with a man who happens to have been his lawyer. 

“Not what?” Matt asks, still ridiculously upbeat. 

“That’s Frank Castle. You know, the one who ruined your firm?” 

“No, that’s my boyfriend, Pete. You sure you’re doing okay, Brett?” 

There’s an incredibly long pause, and then Brett says, “You know what? This is my night off. I’m not paid enough for this shit. It never happened, and if I happened to meet your boyfriend again and he hypothetically happened to be a supposedly dead wanted criminal, I’d arrest him. Okay?” 

“Got it. Have a good night, Brett,” Matt says, pulling Frank through the door behind him. 

As it swings shut and Brett goes on his way, Matt hears him mutter more fondly than he’d ever admit, “Fucking lawyers.” 

As they climb the stairs, Frank snickers. “You’re such an asshole, Matty.” 

“Coming from you! You weren’t exactly tripping over yourself to stop me,” Matt points out through waves of laughter. 

Frank unlocks the door to Matt’s apartment and they head collapse next to each other on the couch, seconds away from more laughter. They take a moment to compose themselves, before Matt turns his head towards Frank. He swings himself round so that he’s straddling Frank’s lap. 

“Hi,” he says softly. 

“Hey.” Frank’s voice sounds like it’s dropped two octaves, which is impressive given how gravelly it usually is. 

“Tonight was good.” 

“Yeah, it was.” 

Matt bends down slightly as Frank stretches up. Their lips meet once, briefly, then again for a little longer. Frank’s hands wrap around Matt’s thighs, pulling him closer. 

“I love you,” Matt says. 

“Love you too, Matty.” 

_For once_ , Matt thinks, _it feels like everything’s going right_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up over on tumblr: [click-grayson](https://click-grayson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
